Help Is On The Way
by Captain Monster Masher
Summary: Reader Insert fic. Everything seemed hopeless. You were ready to die if it meant you could end the torture the stranger with black eyes inflicted upon you. Just as you were about to abandon all hope, your knights ride in on an Impala. But are they too late to save you?


_I know what you're thinking. "Don't you have, like, three other stories you're working on and haven't updated in **FOREVER**?" Yes. Yes I do. And I'll get to them, I totally promise. I'm currently undergoing a "creative overload". I have a million other story ideas currently circulating in my head and it's hard to focus on just one when there are so many others begging to be released. So I wrote this - my first ever reader insert fic - in an effort to relieve some of that._

_If you've never read any of my stuff before, welcome and ignore everything I just said and read on!_

_[This story **may** contain a trigger for abuse/torture.]_

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><p>Disappointment struck you like a volt of electricity when you came to.<p>

_Dammit, _you bitterly cursed to yourself. _I'm still alive_.

Not that you wanted to die. Not really. But at this point, death seemed inevitable. It was only a matter of time and you just wanted it to be over. The bone breaking. The repetitive beatings. The incisions carefully carved into you flesh.

It was hard not to focus on the pain. The excessive blood loss had made you faint, and it was difficult to concentrate on much of anything. But the sharp, perpetual agony was hard to ignore.

Your vision and mind were hazy but, as your eyes gradually began to focus, you could take in your surroundings; dirt covered floors, fading pictures and words painted over peeling wallpaper, a cold, empty stone fireplace. You recognized it as the abandoned, ramshackle house that sat on the county line. The one everybody claimed was haunted, but no one could keep their stories straight on who haunted it or why. The one all the kids - including you on a few occasions in your youth - liked to break into for a cheap thrill.

How you got there was a blur. One minute you were leaving the restaurant where you waited tables, the next you were struggling against an impossibly strong grip and breathing in chloroform through a dirty rag. And now you were hanging by your wrists in what used to be a living room. You had been for the last week. Or perhaps it had only been a few days. You'd long since lost track of time as you began to regularly slip in and out of consciousness.

"Oh good. You're awake."

You cringed at the voice - now all-too-familiar - as the figure of a man with dark hair, dark eyes and a thick brow wandered into view.

"For a minute there, I was worried I would have to go out and find myself a new toy," the stranger - your captor - spoke with a maniacal grin that made your stomach writhe.

Instinct seized your every muscle and you attempted to back away from the strange man as he slowly advanced upon you. But it was no use. The way you had been hung, your toes barely grazed the floor.

"Now," he spoke in a deep voice. "Where were we?"

Your breathing became staggered as he lifted a bloodied knife into view. But you wouldn't scream. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

The unmistakable stench of rotting eggs hit your senses as he inched closer. Your heart raced madly within your chest. You held your breath and clenched your jaw as you prepared for the worst.

The cool, sharp edge of the blade made contact with your collar. A broken gasp passed your lips as the knife slowly tore into your flesh and inched its way across your chest. You gritted your teeth but you didn't scream.

Which didn't seem to bother the vile, knife wielding man. He appeared to be enjoying himself regardless of the fact that you refused to yell out in pain. Mostly, it seemed, he enjoyed watching you bleed.

Still, you were determined to remain silent. And you were for the most part. The concentration required to keep your voice restrained was the only thing preventing you from really feeling the full effect of the torture he inflicted.

The rancid smelling stranger took his time slicing into unbroken flesh, reopening wounds he had already created and deepening others. Your head began to swim again as blood slipped from your new wounds. Sleep began to pull at you, begging you to return to unconsciousness.

An abrupt loud, painful groan slipped from your throat as the knife chewed through the flesh on your right wrist and dragged itself down to your elbow.

"Oh dear," your captor spoke with false concern. "I seem to have found an artery."

_This is it,_ you thought. _This is the end. It's finally over._

The sudden loud rumble of an unexpected car engine caught the man's attention. His eyes flashed a cool black color as his head snapped towards the boarded up windows.

"Winchesters," he growled under his breath with distaste before returning his gaze to you. "Looks like I'm going to have to _cut_ this short," he informed you, chuckling slightly at his own terrible joke before his lips formed an insincere pout. "And we were just getting to the good parts."

The sounds of the engine died, replaced by the sound of two car doors creaking open. Panic laced itself across the man's face as voices began to drift in from outside.

"Here," he spoke hurriedly. "Hold this."

He sank his knife into your left shoulder so deep, only the weapon's handle could be seen when he let go. You opened your mouth to finally allow yourself to scream, but no sound came out. Just a heavy, staggered gasp.

The man took a quick step away from you and tilted his head back, stretching his mouth wide open as he did so. A thick, black cloud of smoke emerged from within him, contorting itself through the house as if it were conscious. And when it had all escaped, he collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Had you been in the right frame of mind, witnessing a heavy plume of smoke eject itself from a human body would have seemed impossible. If all your blood had been in the right place and maybe you'd had something to eat, you would have found the stranger's black eyes inconceivable. But you were rapidly loosing focus. You knew consciousness would falter, and soon. You had to conserve your concentration and energy for one thing; survival.

"Looks pretty dark in there," you heard a rough voice comment from outside.

"Yeah," another man's voice agreed. "It does."

Your lips formed the words "help", but all that came out was a dry, whispered breath.

"Quiet, too," the first voice observed.

"Yeah," the second voice agreed. "A little too quiet."

"Help..." you managed to meekly squeak out through your scratchy voice and parched mouth.

"Place looks pretty boarded up," voice one spoke.

"This has to be where he's holding up," second voice chimed in. "It's the only logical place we haven't checked."

"Help..." you tried to call, your voice still so quiet.

"Unless he knew we were coming," voice one said. "Skipped town?"

"Maybe," voice two said.

"Help..." you desperately cried as tears slowly began to roll down your cheeks.

They were right there. You were so close to being saved. So close, but so far away.

"I hate it when they do that," voice one said.

"Please, help me..." your low, scratchy voice plead.

"Do you hear something?" the second voice questioned.

"Help me..." you called again, this time just a notch louder as your heart hammered loudly with anxious adrenaline. "I'm here... Please..."

"Somebody's in there," the first voice realized.

"Help!" you called again. "Please help me!"

"Hang on!" voice two shouted. "Help is on the way!"

_Oh, thank god_, you though as a wave of relief washed over you. But the reprieve was short lived when you realized just how faint you had become.

_Oh god_, you began to worry. _What if they're too late?_

You began to struggle against your restraints as boots began kicking at the slats of wood that stood in the way of a speedy rescue.

"Crowbar," you could hear the first voice say. "I'll get the crowbar."

"Just hold on!" the second voice called to you. "Everything's going to be alright!"

Panic grabbed at you as your head began to spin and your toes struggled to find some sort of grip on the floor.

_Calm down_, you thought as you forced yourself to take in deep, even breaths. You closed your eyes in an effort to stop the tears and swallowed passed the lump in your throat. _Don't struggle. Struggling will only make it worse. They're here. They'll save you. Help is on the way._

The sound of boards being frantically ripped from the doorway echoed through the house.

"We're coming!" the second voice kept on calling through the racket of splitting wood. "Just hold on!"

At last, just when you didn't think you could maintain a calm state any longer, a tall, attractive muscular man with shaggy hair wandered into view.

"Dean!" the man called as he rushed towards you.

The second rescuer - a man with dark, shorter hair and handsome facial features - dashed in wielding a crowbar and a sawed off shotgun. He fled towards you, abandoning his tools on the floor as he quickly approached.

"We're here," the tall man - the one who had been calling to you - spoke. "We're gonna get you down, okay? But I gotta get that knife out of your shoulder first."

"O-okay," you choked out, nodding.

You squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your jaw. A gasp caught in your throat before a rough groan pushed its way through as the knife was carefully pulled from your body. You opened your eyes in time to see the tall man toss the bloodied blade aside.

The other man, Dean, positioned himself so he was standing directly in front of you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and held you protectively. The fact he didn't know you wasn't going to stop him from doing everything in his power to keep you from further harm.

"I'm going to cut you down now," the other man told you as you stared into Dean's green eyes.

"I-if I'd of... known," you began to choke out as the tall one sawed through the thick rope above. "... my rescuers... were gonna be... so... handsome... I'd of put on some... lipstick."

Dean's expression turned to mild amusement, seemingly impressed by your ability to crack a joke despite everything you had just been through.

The last strand of rope snapped and your weakened body began slip, but Dean caught you long before you could fall to the floor. You gasped out in pain as your open wounds pressed against his leather jacket.

"It's okay," he spoke gently as he slowly and gingerly laid you down, cradling you in his arms. "You're gonna be okay."

"What's your name?" the tall one asked, shrugging his jacket and flannel shirt from around his shoulders.

"Y/N," you shakily replied as he stooped beside you.

"Y/N, I'm Sam," he said, gently taking your right arm. "And that's Dean."

"We're gonna get you out of here," Dean told you as Sam delicately wrapped your arm in his shirt. "Is there anyone else in the house?"

"Jus-t him," you choked, motioning to the eerily still body of the man who had caused your suffering. "He... he did this..."

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing glance.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered to himself.

"We need to get her out of here," Sam whispered, gingerly holding your arm up in an effort to slow the blood flow. "She's lost a lot of blood."

Sam's words reminded of you of how exhausted you were.

Your eyes began to flutter shut as Dean rose to his feet with you nestled in his arms.

"Y/N?" he shook you lightly. "Stay with me, Y/N."

You tried to blink away the intense urge to drift off, but it was harder than it had been before. Maybe it was because your knights had come and you knew they would protect you from further harm. Or perhaps you had begun to loose just a little too much blood.

Dean carried you through the house with Sam hot on his heels.

"Stay with us, Y/N," Dean kept saying as he rushed you towards the classic Impala parked just outside. "You're gonna be just fine, but I need you to stay with us."

You fought so hard to fight back the darkness that threatened to take hold. Dean awkwardly dug into his jeans pocket with you still in his arms, fishing out a set of keys. He threw them at Sam who dashed around the car to the driver's side door. As Dean maneuvered himself into the backseat with you still held safely in his arms, you felt your eyelids grow heavier with each passing second.

"Y/N?"

Too heavy.

"Y/N!"

There was no stopping it now. Your energy was gone and the darkness was too strong to hold back. You weren't going to make it.

"Dammit, Sammy, drive!"

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I affiliated with Supernatural, the CW, Warner Brothers or anyone associated with the show. Obviously. I am also not profiting from this in any way, unless you count practice and pleasure as profit, but those aren't taxable and are difficult to buy things with.<strong>


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